


'Til the Water's All Long Gone

by Ragingbulldurham



Category: Jurassic World (2015)
Genre: F/M, Post-Movie, prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-01
Updated: 2015-07-01
Packaged: 2018-04-07 03:29:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4247619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ragingbulldurham/pseuds/Ragingbulldurham
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>When she sleeps, she dreams. She dreams of teeth, of blood, of bodies littering main street, of screeching and screaming.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	'Til the Water's All Long Gone

**Author's Note:**

> Another prompt! This one was:
> 
> claire x owen after the incident (liketheyre dating or something and they still get nightmares) 
> 
> So I know I've done this already, and I know everyone else has also done it (probably better than I have) already, but here's one more. The title is from the Decemberists. Thanks for reading!

Claire can’t sleep.

She hasn’t slept in days, and she’s been very careful to not let Owen know.

She crawls into bed with him, fitting her body against his, and waits until his breathing is deep and even before crawling back out again.

When she sleeps, she dreams. She dreams of teeth, of blood, of bodies littering main street, of screeching and screaming.

They had been doing better, _both_ of them. When they returned home from the island (to _her_ home, as his home was currently besieged by wildness and wild animals that should have never been created in the first place, and she knows that now. At the very least, she’s learned from their egoism, their short-sightedness, their greed), Owen had very seriously brought up going to see a therapist.

“I’ve seen too many people broken by their insistence that they were just fine,” he insisted, brushing a kiss to her bare shoulder blade. They were tangled together, a boneless heap in the middle of the bed (this was the fastest Claire had ever moved in a relationship. She was known for moving glacially slow when it came to committing, but Owen was different. Not just because he had no where else to go, and not just because she felt her chest constrict and throat tighten when he was more than an arm’s length away. But because she felt comfortable with him in a way that she had never felt before, she felt _safe_. Part of her knew better than to become too attached too quickly, too dependent on him. After all, she didn’t really know all that much about him, but it was a lost cause. She wanted him to come home with her and never leave).

“I’m fine,” she started to say, but Owen buried his face in her hair, breathing in slowly, and then exhaled.

“You’re not.”

She had listened. She had gone to the therapist, both with and without Owen beside her. She had rehashed every detail, relived the terror she felt standing with the flare burning hot in her hand. She talked about throwing the flare at the Indominus Rex and then throwing herself to the ground, not knowing if the t-rex would follow her or the flare. Those few heart stopping seconds where she wasn’t sure if she was going to die or not.

She slept poorly, tossing and turning next to Owen, who would gather her into his arms and whisper soothing, nonsensical words to get her to calm down. And she was there for him when he did the same.

She slept poorly, and then things got _better._ She knew her triggers, knew how to avoid them, how to work through them when she couldn’t avoid them.

And then came the investigation.

She was forced to sit through hours of testimony, listening to others, answering questions herself. There was a renewed interest in what had happened in the media, a renewed interest in her and Owen, and they found themselves dodging photographers whenever they left their apartment.

Owen kept asking if she was okay, how she was handling things, and he looked so relieved when she told him that she was keeping it together that she didn’t know how to tell him when things started unraveling.

So she didn’t.

And she hasn’t slept for days.

Claire had just settled onto the couch with a cup of tea and the book she was reading when she heard the sound of footfalls on the hardwood floors behind her.

_Busted_ , she thought.

“I’m sorry,” she sighed. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“How long have you been up?” Owen asked, dropping with a yawn onto the couch next to her.

“Not long,” she lied.

“Long enough to make a cup of tea,” he pointed out, and she flushed.

_“Just_ long enough to make a cup of tea,” she corrected, and he nodded, but didn’t quite meet her eye.

“You haven’t slept in days,” he said softly. Claire’s head whipped around to face him, and he finally turned to look at her.

“I didn’t think…” she started.

“I noticed?” Owen finished, and she nodded dumbly. “Of course I noticed. What’s going on, hon?” His voice was gentle, and his eyebrows sloped down in concern, and she was an idiot for thinking he wouldn’t know that she slipped out of bed nightly.

Claire was tired, she was _so_ tired, and all it took was Owen’s hand brushing against her arm before she crumbled, burying her face in her hands and sobbing. He didn’t hesitate to tug her into his arms, his strong arms coming around her, and she couldn’t stop, she couldn’t catch her breath.

“I see them,” Claire sobbed. “I see them when I close my eyes. I see them and I _hear_ them. And I can’t save them. I don’t save them.” Owen’s grip tightened. “And I thought I was okay.”

“It’s the damn grand jury hearings,” he swore under his breath. And Claire can’t answer, she can’t do anything but weep. “Breathe, Claire, it’s okay, breathe.”

“I can’t sleep,” she insisted. “If I don’t sleep I don’t have to see them. I don’t have to hear them.” They sit for a long time, Claire’s sobs dying down to just ragged breaths, without speaking.

“You have to get some sleep,” Owen finally said, tucking a kiss into her hair. “You can’t keep going like this.”

“I know,” and she _does_. She knows that she can’t just never close her eyes again. But none of the tricks the therapist taught her are working, she can’t push the noise out of her head. “I think it’s time to admit I’m in over my head.” She twisted his t-shirt between her fingers, and she feels his sigh more than hears it. “Tomorrow, I’ll call Dr. Langhorne.”

“In the meantime,” Owen said, and she felt the rumble of his voice under her cheek. “You’ve got to be exhausted.” Claire nodded.

“I’ll try to sleep,” she offered, “but I don’t want to keep you awake. So I thought it would be better if I just got up.”

“If you aren’t sleeping,” he replied. “I don’t want you to worry about bothering me. I want to lay awake next to you.” And she raised an eyebrow at that. “Well, I guess I’d prefer if we both slept. But if you’re awake, I’m awake. We stick together, remember?”

Claire couldn’t help herself, she pressed her lips against his, desperately, and then pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“I love you, you know?” And Owen smiled, blushing slightly as he dipped his head.

“I love you,” he said, kissing her again. “Come on, let’s go back to bed.” And he untangled himself from her, standing and reaching a hand down to help her to her feet.

Claire leaned her body into his as he wrapped an arm around her shoulder, leading her down the hall, their hips bumping together. She climbed into bed next to him, and he wrapped himself around her.

And she closed her eyes.


End file.
